


pop tarts, whole foods and doritos

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, clint is a petty petty thief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:29:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: Clint manages to steal the entire Tower's supply of Pop-Tarts.This, as you can imagine, doesn't go well.





	1. Clint's Not Allowed To Hide Pop Tarts

“Anyone seen Thor?” Natasha asked as she strode into the living room, frowning as she saw its state. Popcorn was scattered absolutely everywhere--on the couch,  on the coffee table, even on the carpet they’d worked so hard to vaccuum last week. “Guys?” They couldn’t have gone far, she mused. The bowl looked very recently overturned. “I know you guys are still around.”

“Hide, Natasha!” Steve’s panicked voice whispered from behind the couch. He poked his head out from behind the couch, his blue eyes the size of a Pringles can. “Hide while you still can!” Natasha was even  _ more  _ confused; since when had her boyfriend resorted to hiding as an option? “Take cover!” 

“He’s going to come for us all!” Tony whispered loudly, seemingly from nowhere as the coffee table began to vibrate. “Run and hide while you still can!” He hissed as he was jabbed in the side, trying not to cry as he remained absolutely still. 

“Tony, you’re going to give our position away. I am  _ not  _ going to go out via Asgardian ash,” Another examination revealed Bruce to be hiding under the table with Tony, curled up into the fetal position. “We’ll never speak about this again, okay, Natasha?”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked, as Tony muttered something like ‘I thought it was called planetary pu-pu platter’. “Has Thor gone rogue or something?” If he had, she mused, she was surprised he was still here--Thor would have rather died than go after his teammates. Just then, a primal roar shook the Tower as Pietro streaked by, Wanda in his arms. “Run!” he advised. “Thor’s gone on the rampage!” Looking behind him, his gray eyes widened, Natasha’s own green orbs snapping open as she saw Thor lumbering into the living room, fury on his face. Mjolnir crackled with more thunder than she’d ever seen, and she let out a squeak, vaulting over the back of the couch to hide with Steve. 

“We will never speak of this again,” she muttered as she landed in his lap, feeling his chest vibrate with his snickers. “I swear to god, Rogers, you tell anyone I landed in your lap, I’m sending you right back into the ice.” He sobered up quickly, as did she when they heard Thor roar once more, the lights flickering in the room. 

“WHERE ARE THEY?” Thor demanded, the couch coming dangerously close to falling apart. “WHERE HAVE YOU PUT THEM?!” He glared at the couch and coffee table with such venom Natasha swore he knew who was hiding where. “I know you are there, Banner, Stark, Captain. I have not yet encountered Lady Romanoff, but I am sure she will not hesitate to aid me. Now, WHERE ARE THEY?”

“For the last time, Point Break, I don’t know where they are!” Tony squeaker, too cowed by the Asgardian to make a witty comeback. “I already told you--Capsicle, Brucie and I have no idea where they are!” The coffee table began to vibrate with Tony’s shaking, and the remnants of popcorn spilled out of the bowl and onto the table. “Why would we joke about something as serious as this?” He reconsidered his statement. “Actually, why would  _ Rogers  _ joke about something as serious as this? You know I totally would, and I’d probably get Brucie in on it, too--” He was cut off as Thor brought Mjolnir down onto the coffee table, shattering it. Tony and Bruce screamed as their hiding spot collapsed around them. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Pepper demanded, hurrying into the room. When she saw the broken coffee table and Thor holding his hammer aloft, she scowled, “Alright, Tony, what happened?” Tony cautiously crawled out from under the shattered table, hurt in his eyes. 

“Thor shattered the coffee table and you want to ask  _ me  _ what’s going on?” he whimpered. “I was just hiding under the table when Point Break here decided to shatter it on account of apparently we stole his Pop-Tarts, and  _ you want to ask me what’s going on _ ?” 

“Well, everyone’s here,” Pepper said confusedly, “and I just saw Pietro and Wanda...so where’s Clint?” There was a silence as everyone realized just where Clint had gone. “Don’t tell me Clint was the one that stole the Pop-Tarts.” 

“It was Friend Barton, it seems,” Thor said darkly, and just like that, the sky outside began to match his mood, thunder rumbling in the distance. “We shall have to enact our revenge.” He turned to Pepper. “Lady Potts, do you know where I can find the Eyes of Hawk?” Everyone noticed the name change.  _ Shit had gotten real.  _

“Well, I can make a few calls,” Pepper said nervously, feeling around for her cell phone without breaking eye contact with Thor. She pulled it out of her skirt pocket, dialing her number 5. “Maria?” she asked. “You seen Barton?” When the response on the other end was negative, she sighed. “No? Try Coulson? Alright.” She hung up and turned back to him. “Try Coulson?”

“I’ll take a team,” Tony said, brushing himself off. “Where’s Wilson?”

* * *

 

"Guys, does someone want to explain the surplus of food we suddenly got?" Skye asked, frowning at the large pile of food that had appeared in the kitchen.  "I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, because hell, there's gummy bears--but where did it come from?"

"I figure, if it's HYDRA, going out by filet mignon isn't a bad way to go," Hunter shrugged as he entered, immediately fishing through the pile for said piece of steak. He held the package up in triumph. "Hey, Bob! You know how to cook this thing?" Bobbi poked her head in, a scowl on her pretty features.

"No, but I learned how to cook testicles a long time ago," she answered sweetly. "Wanna see  _ those _ culinary skills, Hunter?" Hunter just shook his head, dropped the steak back into the pile, and bolted in horror, leaving Bobbi to pick it up. "Excellent. Filet mignon." She turned to Skye, who had stared at the entire exchange in astonishment. "Want some? I learned how to do a mean sear undercover in Gordon Ramsey's kitchen once."

When Skye gained her voice back, she was still stuttering at the whole incident. "Medium rare, please." Bobbi just nodded and fished another steak out of the pile, heading towards the kitchen. "Simmons! Steak?" could be heard down the hallway. The same inquiry could be heard down the hallway at each room, and Skye busied herself picking steaks out of the pile.

"Man, if this is from HYDRA, I don't know why we're trying to destroy them. We should send them a gift basket," Mack snorted as he entered the kitchen, digging out a bag of potato chips. "With supplies like these, we could go for a year."

"Test everything you eat," Coulson warned as he entered, digging for a candy bar. "Ah, chocolate," he said, pulling one out with relish. "It's been awhile since I had one of these." He unwrapped the candy, sniffing it experimentally. "Always check for poison" was briefly directed at Mack and Skye before Coulson ate the bar whole. "Mmm. Almonds."

"All the same, the fact remains that we didn't receive the equivalent of an English market--or a Scottish one, yes, I know, Fitz--and that it's not as great as you all make it out to be!" Simmons' plaintative woes were heard from down the hallway, and Skye had to chuckle as she saw FitzSimmons enter the pantry, looking thoroughly upset.

"Do you still want a steak, Simmons?" Bobbi asked, fighting back laughter. "Even though I'm apparently 'going to massacre it like all of the bloody Americans do'?" Simmons looked flustered, her mouth rapidly opening and closing as she tried to formulate a response. "You know, I studied under a British chef.  _ And  _ I was married to Hunter once. I think I know how to handle a steak."

"For the record," Simmons managed finally, "that was Fitz who complained about your cooking." She waved a hand at her other half. "There was something about haggis mentioned as well, but I'm really not going to bring that up because it's really a dreadful thing--"

"I did  _ not _ say Bobbi would massacre the steak!" Fitz complained, having joined in towards the tail end of Simmons' retort. "All I said is that I hoped she wouldn't burn the bloody thing like May did the last time she tried to cook a steak!" Mollified, he began digging for some beef jerky, clutching a pack to his chest as he scurried back to the lab.

"He'll have a steak," Simmons assured Bobbi, sighing. "And I'll take one as well, Agent Morse." When Bobbi held up the steak with a raised eyebrow, she hurriedly corrected, "Bobbi." She quickly hurried after Fitz, leaving the rest of the crew in the pantry.

"Can I have a steak, too?" came a voice from the muffled pile. Skye, Coulson, Mack and Bobbi all jumped, instantly pulling their ICERs out at the pile. "Oh, come on, Phil," the voice snorted once more. "I've been here for a couple of hours. I'm famished. The least I could get for giving you all of this food is a steak. And maybe a bottle of beer?"

" _ Barton _ ?" Coulson asked in disbelief, lowering his gun. "One, what the hell are you doing here, two, what's all this food doing on the Bus?" Clint was about to open his mouth to answer when May came barreling through the pantry, likely on her way to the cockpit.

"Radar just picked up three bogeys on our tail," she explained as she rushed by. "Can't identify who they are--their tech is too good. Get ready for some turbulence!" she called. "Time to test out whether I can do a 360 barrel roll in this thing." Coulson turned a nasty shade of green--the last time May had done a barrel roll, he'd been sick for an hour. Maybe this Kree blood was good for anti airsickness.

"Stark, probably," Clint muttered to himself. No one took notice, however, and began to suit up. Just for good measure, Bobbi hid the steaks in a safe, locking it so that Hunter wouldn't be able to get in. "Bobbi. Bobbi. Bobbi." When she looked at him expectantly, he asked, "Can I have a steak?"

She just tossed one at his face.

* * *

 

"Attention, agents, this is your pilot speaking. We're about to experience some heavy turbulence, so please strap in," May's deadpan voice sounded over the speaker. "This loser just bet that I couldn't do a 720 barrel roll in this thing, and let's just say I'm about to be $20 richer real soon."

Exasperated groans could heard all over the craft. " _ Hunter! _ "

Coulson sprinted towards the bathroom--he wasn't about to let everyone know he'd eaten through all of the team's beef jerky. Skye just sighed and reached for some gum. Instead, her hand snagged several silvery-looking packages. Bringing them out, she frowned and shifted apart the pile. There were several more packages there, all a silvery color. "Guys," she called. "I think I know why Barton's here."

Just then, Clint's phone rang, and he sighed before answering it. "Barton." Another sigh. "Yes, Tasha, I'm on the Bus. Yes, they've spotted me. Morse threw a steak at my face." Natasha's response clearly was insulting. "What? What do you mean, that's how every woman should react to me asking them for steak?" Bobbi burst into laughter above him. "And now she's laughing at me, Tasha--what? Tell May that Stark, Thor and Wilson are the three bogeys and they're going to engage in arms with the Bus for the Pop-Tarts? But it was a joke, I didn't think he'd get so angry about me stealing them-- _ fine _ , Tasha. Catch you later." He hung up with another sigh, facing Skye, Mack and Bobbi. "Stark, Thor and Wilson just want the Pop-Tarts."

"IT'S JUST THE FLYING IDIOTS. STAND DOWN." Skye hollered back to May, hoping the message would get through. There was a loud roar of 'NO CAN DO' before the Bus lurched violently, tilting counterclockwise. Clint began heading towards the ceiling, the large pile of food following him. Bobbi, Mack and Skye chose instead to grab onto the cabinet door, hanging instead onto it instead of falling towards the ceiling. As soon as he touched the ceiling, Clint headed back towards the ground, the cycle repeating itself once more before he toppled onto the ground, getting hit in the head with a cantaloupe. It smashed open, its orange guts streaming all over his face.

"Well, I'd say that was a waste of a cantaloupe...but it's really not," Bobbi quipped as she regarded the scene, having gracefully landed on the ground after letting go of the cabinet. "In fact, I'd say it trended towards one of the more practical uses." Coulson came in, looking surprisingly not nauseous. "Sir, it's just the Avengers," she informed him. "Unfortunately, May was already in the steps of a barrel roll when she was informed."

"You have my permission to go kill Hunter," Coulson answered. "Since he was the only one insane enough to bet May that twenty, I'm thinking." Before Bobbi left, he stopped her. "Rare, please." She only nodded as Clint spluttered from the pile,

"HIM! AND I STILL DON'T GET A STEAK?"

"You're the reason May did a barrel roll!" Skye retorted, reaching for one of Thor's Pop-Tarts. "I think the occasion calls for a Pop-Tart. Maybe I'll even tell Thor you ate it." She ripped the silvery package open, examining its contents. "Huh. Special edition Oreo. Looks good to me." And in one smooth move, the pastry was eaten, much to Clint's horror.

"Don't eat them!" he exclaimed. "Thor's going to kill me if he finds out I ate one, and then I'll have to put up with Steve's 'I'm-Disappointed-In-You' face, and Tasha's going to glare at me, and--"

"Should've thought of that before you hid a Tower's worth of food on the Bus, hm?" Skye asked, picking up another package and tearing into it. "Wow! This was like, the Christmas edition of 2013. I didn't know they still sold it. Hey, Bobbi!" she called. "Want a Pop-Tart? I'm blaming the massacre on Barton!"

"Hand one over," Bobbi replied cheerfully, having returned from the cockpit. "Think you could hand over the rosemary, too? I've searched all over this pile, but I haven't found it." Skye quickly through the pile, and, finding nothing but Pop-Tarts, grabbed a pack and started looking through the other piles. It took a few minutes, as well as the discovery of several other items (read: gourmet coffee beans and tea bags that were quickly squirreled away) before she came upon the herbs, digging out a fresh sprig before returning to Bobbi.

"They still sell the cupcake edition?" she asked in delight as Skye handed her the herbs and pastry. " _ Excellent _ !" The pastry was quickly gobbled down, and Bobbi began cooking in earnest, her knife flying at inhuman speeds. Skye just watched in awe as she cooked, surprised at her agility and precision.

" _ Welcoming party! _ " came the voice of Tony Stark as three  _ thuds _ hit the roof, and May almost launched into another barrel roll. "Give us the Pop-Tarts and no one dies. We could care less about Barton." There was a small pause. "Okay, Point Break made me say that one. But the last part I'm not kidding about."

"POP-TART EATING PARTY!" Skye screeched, and everyone dashed in, grabbing for several packages of Pop-Tarts. Wrappers flew everywhere as everyone gorged themselves; FitzSimmons was especially candid, having never tasted a Pop-Tart before. When it was over, Coulson and Mack lay on the floor, groaning.

"We didn't leave any for May," Coulson realized in slight horror. "She loves the cinnamon ones. She's going to kill me." Skye, Bobbi and Simmons burst into laughter, poor Simmons hiccuping and looking slightly green as she did so. She immediately ran to the bathroom, and there was pity for her all around as they heard the sounds of retching.

"Shame," Mack commented. "Throwing them up--not a fun way to remember your first experience with Pop-Tarts." To Tony, he said, "Sorry, Stark, Barton ate all of them." There was the sound of a strangled shriek before the Bus door was wrenched open, the three Avengers dropping into the area.

"Barton," Thor growled, holding Mjolnir aloft at him. "You  _ dare  _ eat all of my beloved tarts of pop?" Clint struggled wildly to respond, pointing frantically at the rest of the Bus team so that Thor would figure out that they'd eaten them all. "So you have?" Thor looked thoughtful. "I see. It seems that you shall have to acquire more for me out of your pocket." At that, Clint started to actually cry--everyone knew that replenishing Thor's Pop-Tarts was extremely expensive. (It was the only thing Tony refused to pay for.)

Sam's phone beeped. "Banner says he wants his tea back." Skye sighed, disgruntled, as she opened the cabinet in which she'd hidden all of the tea. She handed it to Sam, who suddenly looked uncomfortable about having to carry all of it back. "You can keep the coffee. Stark can just get more."

"I refuse to drink tea after an all-nighter!" Tony exclaimed, the horror on his face equal to that of Clint's. "Tea does not do it like coffee does! It's been scientifically proven that coffee has more caffeine in it than tea!" Skye looked at him defiantly, standing her ground. She wasn't about to give up her decent coffee inheritance. Not without a decent fight that would probably involve quaking the plane.

"I suppose we shall have to to embark on a quest to the market, then," Thor shrugged, still holding his hammer aloft at Clint. He turned to Coulson, his expression pleading. "Son of Coul, at least allow me one hit. He is under the branch of SHIELD, and therefore is to your discretion." Coulson raised an eyebrow before nodding, and he barely saw Clint's look of betrayal before Thor hoisted him up, carrying him into the hallway. Everyone turned their backs, Mack going so far as to whistle jauntily while they pretended nothing was going on. There was the sounds of smashing and screaming, combined with Thor's outraged shouts.

"Steak's up!" Bobbi called through the carnage, and all of the agents scrambled towards the kitchen, where she'd prepared several plates, all garnished with just about everything under the sun. "Two rares, Coulson, Mack, three medium rares, FitzSimmons and Skye, a medium for May and myself, and...right, fat and trimmings for Barton." The waste was piled onto a plate, the rest of the dishes served up.

"I don't suppose you've got another steak in that pile, do you?" Sam asked, wandering into the kitchen. He'd left Thor to beat Clint up, Tony cheering him on with far too much excitement than was proper. "I flew here. I'm starved." He looked through the pile, letting out a fake sob upon finding out there were indeed no more. "Damn."

"We have any ketchup in the fridge?" Skye asked around a mouthful of steak. "Not that it's bad, Bobbi, I just eat every meat known to man with ketchup. Plus," she said, gesturing to the mound of mashed potatoes on her plate, "mashed potatoes and ketchup. The best." FitzSimmons followed Sam, each of them expressing their delight at the steaks, Fitz immediately reaching for a bottle of Worcestershire sauce. At  _ that _ , Bobbi looked offended, and she made a point of throwing a small glob of mashed potatoes at him before continuing on.

"So I used all of the seasoning," she admitted calmly during a lull in the meal. May had come in not too long ago, taken the steak with a word of thanks to Bobbi, and headed back to the cockpit. (They could only assume she was planning to eat it while Hunter, who was being held captive, watched.) "We're going to need to get more. I also think we're low on toilet paper from FitzSimmons trying to use it as kindling a couple of weeks ago."

"We were low on flammable materials!" Simmons exclaimed as Coulson glared at her over a forkful of broccoli. "The next thing would have been Bobbi's Star Wars T-shirt! Which I stopped Fitz from burning, of course," she said meekly as Bobbi gave a start. "I would have burned his Dr. Who T-shirt first."

"Fine, we'll go grocery shopping," Coulson sighed to his agents' cheers. They all knew it was sad when they were cheering at getting to go  _ grocery shopping _ , but hey, outside was outside. "1000 hours tomorrow. Bring shopping bags." Skye was psyched--she'd stolen a credit card off of Stark and intended to buy the best of everything.  _ Ben and Jerry's, here I come. _


	2. SHIELD'S Grocery Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our favorite heroes bicker over groceries, Tony goes through withdrawal, and there's a lot of a hankering for Doritos.

"I still can't believe you're making us go grocery shopping, Cap," Tony griped as they drove out to a supermarket. "Just because Barton stole all of the food and hid it on the Bus did not constitute everyone going shopping!" Steve said nothing as he gripped the wheel, silently rolling his eyes. Pietro and Wanda had opted to stay behind, still too cowed of Thor to actually stand being in a car with him. 

"Shut it, Stark, or we won't get you anything you want," Natasha answered from her place next to Steve, her feet on the dashboard. Steve had long given up trying to make her take her feet off; in fact, they'd long since dubbed it 'Natasha's Dashboard', even going so far as to install a plaque on it. "You're lucky you got to sit in the backseat as it is." Thor had chosen to stay back at the Tower, mourning the loss of his precious Pop-Tarts.

"Still, though!" Tony insisted from his in the backseat, leaning into the partition that divided Steve and Natasha. "Why are we going supermarket shopping? It's pesant work! I'm not made out to traverse aisles and determine quality! Plus," he shuddered,  " _ coupons _ . Even the thought of them makes me sick."

"Oh, you mean  _ these _ ?" Natasha asked, taking out a wad of coupons and holding them out to Tony. He screamed and jumped back, clutching Clint. "That's what I thought." She'd clipped them out specifically for that purpose. Not to mention it was her turn to pay for food. In the back, Clint rolled his eyes and slapped at Tony.

"Are we there yet?"

"Just about," Steve answered, turning into the parking lot.  "Looks like we weren't the only ones to think about shopping," he said as they caught sight of a bright red car that read LOLA. As he pulled into a space, he said, "All right, here's the plan," he said to them. "Tony, you're on nonperishable duty. Chips, canned food, anything that doesn't require you to look at fresh stuff. Clint, meat and fish. Try to get something else that isn't T-bone steak or fried catfish. Bruce, dairy. I want ice cream that isn't five hundred cans of butter pecan." When Clint opened his mouth to protest, Steve answered, "That stuff was disgusting. I am never eating it again." To Natasha, he said, "You and I are on produce. Keeping the good stuff."

"BREAK!" Tony hooted, and the five of them got out of the car, each grabbing a shopping cart and hurtling into the supermarket. Steve and Natasha immediately grabbed for several plastic bags, each of them having their produce routine down flat. 

As Natasha added several pounds of tomatoes to a plastic bag (hey, not her fault if she liked spaghetti and meatballs), she turned around to see her shopping cart suddenly missing, being wheeled away by a short Asian. "Hey!" she called to the woman, setting after her. "That's my shopping cart you took!" When the woman didn't answer, she tried once again in Mandarin, figuring English wasn't her native language. It was only then that the woman turned around, smirking.

"Of course, Romanoff," It was May. "Your cart has the best stuff," It didn't matter that May could barely boil water without setting something on fire--Bobbi was at least better than she was, and that steak had been  _ good _ . May took off with the cart, Natasha giving chase with a shout. The wheels of the cart creaked as the two of them dashed through the aisles like children, weaving in and out erratically. "Chips?" she asked Coulson as she ran by, Coulson having been frowning over the selection of cheeses.

His answer was loud and clear as she sped away. "I COULD ALWAYS GO FOR SOME DORITOS!" 

"MAKE SURE YOU GET THE ONES WITH ROGERS' FACE ON THEM," Skye hollered from where she was picking out candies. "YOU KNOW HE WON'T EAT THEM OTHERWISE."

May jumped into the cart to give it some speed, bodily steering it into the chip aisle. "Move over, Stark," she growled as she reached for the bags, sweeping them into the cart. The cart was full once May passed through the aisle, and once she jumped out, the cart was run through the cash register and parked in the SHIELD area. "Cart's ours!" she crowed joyfully. "Take that, Romanoff!"

Her victory was short-lived, however, as a metal claw descended from above, picking up Natasha's produce from the cart. May glared at Clint as he scurried away, the vegetables in his arms. "Sorry, May, but I'd rather not have Nat pissed for the next month!" he called to her as he deposited the food into a pile marked with a large 'A'. "You can keep the chips, though!"

* * *

 

"I'm telling you, Fitz, the salmon is  _ clearly _ better than the tuna," Simmons gestured, clearly exasperated with the conversation. She and Fitz had been standing over the seafood display for about half an hour, deciding which fish to take back on the Bus--after all, it wasn't every day that they kept fish aboard. Plus, they'd heard May had some pretty mad knife skills. "For one, it's worth more. Secondly, the Omega-3s would benefit all of us, seeing as we never get any sun,"

"Bobbi came back with a sunburn last week," Fitz pointed out grumpily. "And Jem, we need our protein more then we need some bloody vitamins. Hence, tuna. Not the salmon." He began to step up to the counter, fully intent on ordering, when Simmons grabbed him back.

"Have you considered the mercury level in tuna?" she hissed, her eyes flashing. "Did you ever think that getting tuna would end up--"

"--killing the whole team?" Fitz finished, rolling his eyes. "Yes, Jem, I thought about it, but have you considered the mercury level in  _ salmon _ ? We're five times likely to die from salmon than tuna. Hi," he said to the fisherman, stepping up before Simmons could protest any more. "Could I possibly get five pounds of your tuna--"

" _ So _ sorry, three weeks and he's still having trouble with his fish names," Simmons cut in on a laugh, stepping in front of him. "What he  _ meant _ was that we'll have five pounds of salmon, Atlantic if you've got it--"

"Delusional, she is," Fitz cut her off with a wave of his hand, raising his voice slightly. "Honestly, she's the one who can't tell the difference between fishes. You'll have to excuse her, tiny bit addled in the brain she is; so if you could make it tuna, that'd be great--"

"Oh, I'M delirious!" Simmons shrieked, laughing hysterically. "Need I remind you that you were the one who thought asparagus and brussel sprouts were the same thing, Fitz, and you spent three hours telling Mack about why brussel sprouts made your urine smell!" Fitz turned deeply red at that comment, but snapped back,

"They're both green vegetables, Jem, but at least I wasn't the one who spent a day trying to tell the difference between a squash and a tomato!" he laughed, his remark almost derisive. "We'll have the tuna, please," he said finally to the fisherman. "Five pounds."

"Salmon," Simmons corrected. "We'll have five pounds of the  _ salmon _ , if you please." The fisherman looked uncertain, his hand hovering between both fishes.

"Tuna."

"Salmon."

"Tuna."

" _ Salmon _ ."

" _ Tuna _ ."

"Are you guys ever going to decide, or should I just get mackerel for us all and get it over with?" Bobbi's amused voice filtered through their argument, and they turned to see her, holding her phone up video-style. FitzSimmons turned red in tandem, Simmons aiming for more of a purple.

"How much of that did you see?" Simmons stuttered finally, fumbling a plastic bag in her hands. Bobbi laughed, stopping her recording as her number was called.

"Miss, I sure hope you can make better decisions than them two there," the fisherman said, laughing. "What'll it be for you today?"

"I'll have five pounds of your finest mackerel, three salmon, and two tuna," Bobbi answered warmly, flashing the man a charming smile. "Got a friend who's got some crazy knife skills." Both Fitz and Simmons noticed that Bobbi had turned up a southern accent upon hearing the fisherman's, and fought to contain their snickers. "And any chance you got some fightin' lobsters over there?"

"Sure thing," he said, pulling the fish from their case. "We got a fresh batch, if you're interested. Also got some mighty big clams in the back," Bobbi slapped her hand to her mouth as if in genuine shock, and Simmons had to actually walk away as to not burst out laughing.

"That sounds great," Bobbi drawled, sounding amazed. "Could I possibly get my hands on some of those too?" When a large bunch of clams was scooped into a bag and handed to her, she let out a sound of thanks. "Why, aren't you the sweetest thing," she told him. "Thank you  _ so _ much."

"Thank you  _ so _ much," Simmons breathily mocked two aisles over with Fitz. The two of them burst into hearty laughter, their argument forgotten. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing." They didn't notice Bobbi's looming shadow until it was too late, each of them getting smacked in the head with one of her purchases.

"For the record, that was a horrible Southern accent," she chided gently as FitzSimmons rubbed their heads in pain. "I've never tried to do an English accent, so the least you could do is not mimic mine." When they looked at her in confusion, she said, "Georgia Tech. Savannah born and raised. And no, we don't eat peaches three meals a day."

"I wasn't going to ask," Fitz muttered when Simmons looked at him. "It was just a curiosity. We Scots eat haggis three meals a day. What's wrong with peaches?"

"I'm going to go get chips," Bobbi sighed, choosing to ignore completely what Fitz had just said. "You guys want any?"

"Is that fries or chips?" Simmons asked. Somewhere, a few aisles down, they heard Tony burst into laughter, followed by the sound of a slap. "Because you could technically mean either one, although since we're in America, I guess you mean potato chips, and not actual  _ fries _ , and--"

"Chips, Simmons." Bobbi looked endearingly amused. "Actual bagged potato chips. If you wanted fries, all you had to do was say so. I'm sure Mack wouldn't object to getting to use the fryer in the garage." Tony was still laughing, despite the person who had slapped him, and he kept laughing until there was the sound of a scream and the splat of a tomato.

"Don't mess with my scientists." came Bruce's soft-spoken voice, and the three of them  _ swore _ they could hear the sounds of Tony crying. Simmons turned back to Bobbi, answering, 

“I’ll have some Utz, please. Crinkles. Regular.” Bobbi looked at her weirdly before she walked away, muttering, 

“I don’t get it. You were begging for Doritos last week.”

* * *

 

Thor stared at the mass of boxes in the aisles, looking thoroughly confused at the packaging. Whenever he happened upon boxes at the Tower, they were all encased in silvery foils. Now, there was not a foil to be seen, instead, he was seeing multiple packages of blue. Where were his Pop-Tarts? The amicable young man had told him this was indeed the right aisle...

“Ooh, Pop-Tarts!” a feminine voice came from his right, and he turned to see Skye next to him, reaching out to sweep an armful of boxes into a basket. “At this point, I don’t even care what flavors I’m getting,” she told him. “As long as I have enough to last me through the next supermarket run, I’m alright.” She handed Thor a dented box. “Looking for these?”

“I do not understand,” he said, still puzzled. “I have never seen this type of Pop-Tart before. Is it some special edition I have not yet encountered?” If it was some sort of special edition, he  _ had  _ to have it. There wasn’t a special edition Pop-Tart he wouldn’t eat. 

“They’re just Pop-Tarts,” Skye laughed, grabbing an empty basket as the first one was filled. “If they say ‘special edition’ on the front, then they’re the special edition ones. Other than that, it’s a free for all.” It sunk in to him what Skye was saying, and he immediately started grabbing for boxes, some of them falling to the ground with the force of his grip. She realized her mistake and began grabbing them faster, even using her power to knock some boxes to the ground so that she could run by and pick them up.

“You shall never have all of the Pop-Tarts, Lady Skye!” Thor rumbled, running ahead of her in the aisle, sweeping up fallen boxes. “In the name of Odin, I swear I shall bring some back to the Tower for consumption!” In his haste to pick up the boxes, he nearly swept Skye aside. She kept her balance, but just barely. 

“HUNTER, PLAN 426-ALPHA!” she screamed. Instantly, Hunter appeared at the head of aisle, beginning to aid Skye in scooping up boxes. Once, Thor was even hit with a cucumber, and he flailed comically before tipping into the shelf. Skye and Hunter shared a high-five before quickly continuing on their quest. 

_ BOOM.  _

They watched as several shelves tipped over like dominoes, crashing into the ground loudly. At the end of it all, Skye and Hunter stared, stunned, as the rest of the shoppers turned to look at them. They quickly shuffled away innocently, Skye occasionally stopping to pick up discarded Pop-Tart boxes. 

“It was Thor’s fault!” they said in unison as Coulson strode up to them, looking equal parts livid and curious. When he eyed the baskets in their arms, Skye amended, “Thor started the whole thing. I was just rescuing the Pop-Tarts.” The three of them looked over at Thor, who was stirring groggily on the floor. 

“Well, I hope everyone got their chips?” Hunter asked, attempting to lighten the mood. Panic crossed Skye’s face as she remembered that chips had been on her list. 

“Crap. I didn’t get any Doritos.” Her face fell into a pout. “I haven’t had Doritos in three months!” She handed her basket to Hunter, striding a few aisles over. “Hold them. I’m going in!” Before he could answer, she’d already dived into the rubble.

“Tony, put the coffee back,” Bruce said tiredly as Tony attempted to reach for yet  _ another  _ bag of Arabica beans. “That’s the third bag of coffee you’ve reached for in  the last five minutes. I am  _ not  _ allowing you to attempt to drink a bag of coffee beans in a grocery store.”

“But I need the caffeine, Brucie!” Tony protested. “That tea you’ve got me on doesn’t do anything for me! I told you coffee was better than tea!” They’d been having this argument for months--Tony would always argue that coffee had more caffeine per bean, and Bruce would argue that tea had other qualities, rather than just energizing the user.

Behind them, several shelves crashed to the ground in unison, Bruce and Tony jumping as a shelf collided with the ground, emitting a loud  _ clang.  _ Tony risked looking behind him, nearly screaming out in horror as he saw bags upon bags of coffee beans spilling upon the ground. 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Bruce barely had time to even  _ think  _ about lunging towards Tony before he was scrabbling on the ground, picking up individual beans and cradling them to his chest. “It’s okay, Daddy’s got you,” he soothed them. “It’s okay.” Soon enough, however, he gave into temptation, and started picking up beans off of the ground to eat, letting out sounds of happiness as they went down his throat. 

“There are five million things wrong with this,” Steve muttered as he picked Tony up bodily, having arrived just when Tony had started eating beans off of the ground. “Bruce, you need to put him back on caffeine,” he said to the scientist. “That tea’s not doing it. Heck, it barely even gets  _ Natasha  _ up in the mornings. I don’t know how you do it.”

“My babies!” Tony shrieked, only half coherent. “I need to be with my babies! They need love and care and nurture and--”

“And to go down your throat, I’m sure,” Bruce said dryly as Steve toted a screaming Tony away, presumably away from temptation. With a sigh, he began to pick up the spilled coffee beans. “I don’t want to think about what would happen if you ate the beans straight up.” 

“ _ Not the coffee! _ ” came a scandalized shout, and he turned to see Coulson with a look of horror on his face. “I hadn’t bought the coffee yet! And Mack drank all of it this morning!” Bruce sighed again before taking out the bags of coffee they’d acquired and putting them into Coulson’s basket. “Oh. Thanks, Dr. Banner.” 

“Not a problem,” he said, and he meant it. “Tony can just get better coffee online.” Another crash resounded, and this time it was FitzSimmons’ shouts that filled the air. 

_ “NOT THE TEA!” _

* * *

 

“Where’s Skye?” May asked as the Bus team regrouped in front of the cash registers. “Hunter, wasn’t she with you?” Hunter put his hands up in innocence, shaking his head. “I saw you two fighting Thor over the Pop-Tarts. And don’t pull that twin trick again, I know you don’t have any siblings.”

“She went in to get Doritos!” Hunter exclaimed, shaking his head madly. “I don’t know what the bloody hell she was thinking! I thought she’d come out half an hour ago!” Because honestly, if Skye was still trapped under the bags of Doritos, they wouldn’t go in. She’d have to eat her way out. After some silence, he asked, “D’you think she got the special edition Hulk ones?”

The rest of the team gave him a glare that said  _ Not funny.  _

“If she has to eat her way out, her weight gain would be  _ massive _ ,” Simmons worried, twisting her fingers. “Not to mention the strain it would put on her heart. In fact, if she ate her way out of the rubble, she could very well take ten years off of her life expectancy!” 

“Let’s not forget she has  _ powers, _ ” Fitz added dryly, crossing his arms. “She could save herself all of the health problems if she quaked her way out.” In fact, it seems Skye did just that, as a hole blew itself through a large wall of wine bottles, the alcohol flying everywhere. Through a haze, they could see Tony leaping towards the alcohol, attempting to catch some of it on his tongue. 

“Wow,” Coulson remarked. “Wonder what they’ve got him on.” 

“I’M ALIIIIIIIIVE!” Skye exclaimed, crawling out of the rubble with several bags of Doritos in her arms. “And with tons of Doritos!” She looked around the supermarket, from Tony trying to lick the alcohol to FitzSimmons arguing over her imminent death. “Okay...I’m just going to sit here in the corner and eat these....”


End file.
